Risk
by Sherlocked Gallifreyan
Summary: Cuddy realizes that the feelings she has for House are deeper than she ever imagined. But she can't contact House, and she fears that he might have finally killed himself. Rated for character death and some (very little) language in the final chapter.
1. Chapter 1

A/N. So… I got a new laptop yesterday! That's irrelevant to the story, but I'm quite happy.

I have a massive problem with this story. I have absolutely no idea where to go with it. I mean, I have ideas, but I don't like any of them. I'd love to hear what you guys think of the story. I'd also love to hear any ideas you wonderful people have regarding this story. Read and Review, please. Truly yours, Sherlocked Gallifreyan.

* * *

Wilson sighed and shook his head. House had always been difficult, but now? Now, the man was nearly impossible. Wilson didn't know if it was the pain or the drug habit that was getting worse. Maybe it was both. Either way, it wasn't healthy.

He was working up the courage to talk to Cuddy about House when she barged into his office, looking torn between rage, disgust, and pity. Wilson swore he saw fear and something else he couldn't identify.

"Where's House?" she demanded.

"Why does everyone think I always know where he is?" Wilson snapped.

"You're probably the only friend he has," she retorted. "He talks to you." She paused to collect herself before continuing: "He hasn't answered his phone. I know, I know." She cut off Wilson's protest. "House doesn't always answer his phone. But he doesn't let it go this long, and I don't think he's at his apartment…"

"Waitwaitwait!" Wilson said, gesturing for her to calm down. "Why are you suddenly so worried about him?" Cuddy sat heavily in the chair across from Wilson, debating how much she could tell Wilson. Because if she told Wilson, Wilson would probably tell House.

"Well?" Wilson prompted.

"I'm debating whether or not I should lie to you!" she snapped. She passed a hand over her face.

Wilson sat back in his chair, only slightly stunned. "You like him, don't you," he said flatly.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked, looking out the window, at the floor, at her fingernails. Looking everywhere but at Wilson.

"Well… If anyone else tried to get away with even half the things House does, you would have fired them," he said, trying to choose his words carefully. "But… you indulge him. And…" Here he stopped, not sure if finishing that thought was a good idea.

"And what?" Cuddy asked emptily.

"And… I think… I think you encourage him to act out," Wilson said, softly and hurriedly. He waited for her wrath, but it never came. Instead, she stood up and walked quietly out of Wilson's office.

* * *

Cameron smiled at her young patient and his mother. Addressing the mother, she said, "Your son will be fine. He has a cold." The mother relaxed visibly, with a quiet, "Oh, thank God!" As the pair left and Cameron began tidying the room, Cuddy entered. She looked worried. Almost scared.

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked, trying to keep the concern out of her voice.

"You haven't seen House, have you?" Cuddy asked.

"Not since yesterday," Cameron said. "Why?"

"Forget it," Cuddy said before Cameron pressed for more information. Hurrying to her office, she locked the door behind her. She dialed House's number, trying not to panic. Her heart sank as she got the dial tone again. She hung up and tried his cell. She wiped a tear off her cheek and left a message after the tone. "Greg," she begged. "Please answer the phone… Greg? Come on, House! Unless you're dead, get off your ass and answer the dead phone!" She waited for about a minute before pleading in a shaky voice, "Greg, please answer. I know you don't usually care to answer the phone, but you're really starting to scare me… Please?" She waited and waited and waited. Nothing. Finally, she ended the call and dropped the phone on her desk. She rested her chin on her palm and stared at the carpet. Maybe he was just being House and ignoring her. Maybe he was skipping work. There were a thousand plausible reasons for House to be AWOL.

Cuddy stood and paced the width of her office, thoughts jumbled and painful.

* * *

A/N. Should I continue it? Any ideas? I'd love to hear from you.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N. I'd love to thank you wonderful reviewers and those who are following this story. Not to sound sappy and cliché-y, but it means a lot to me. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm dragging the story out. I know where I'm going. I just have to figure out how I'm gonna get there. Thank you all for your continued support. I love you all. Truly yours, Sherlocked Gallifreyan.

* * *

Usually, Cuddy was poking around by now, checking In on things. Chase wasn't too worried, though. Cuddy could be busy. He looked up as Cameron came in, worry creasing her face. "What's up?" he asked as she sat next to him, resting her elbows on the table.

"Has Cuddy asked you if you've seen House?" she asked abruptly.

"No…?" he said, looking at her in confusion.

"She asked me six hours ago," Cameron continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I haven't seen her since."

"Why are you worried?" Chase asked, spreading his hands. "It's Cuddy. She can take care of herself!"

"She looked like she was going to start crying when I told her I hadn't seen House since yesterday," Cameron said.

"Okay… It's House. He skips work and doesn't answer his phone all the time," Chase pointed out.

"Cuddy knows that! She gets mad, not scared!" Cameron said, trying to keep her voice down. She took a deep breath and slowly released it.

"Wait. She was scared?" Chase asked. Now he was getting worried.

"Yeah!" Both of them jumped guiltily when the door opened.

"What's this about?" Foreman asked. "And have either of you seen House?"

"Haven't you?" Cameron asked.

"If I had, would I be asking?" Foreman retorted. He was met with silence.

* * *

Wilson knocked on Cuddy's door. "Cuddy?" he called softly. The door opened and Cuddy, eyes swollen from crying, motioned for him to come in. She closed and locked the door. "Did you…?" She cut him off with a shake of her head. Wilson briefly closed his eyes. Six hours and still nothing.

"Do you still have your key?" Cuddy asked suddenly.

"Key?" Wilson repeated.

"To House's apartment," Cuddy said. "Do you still have it?"

"Yeah," Wilson said. "But not with me!" Cuddy grabbed his arm and dragged him out of her office, through hospital halls, down the stairs, through a crowded waiting room (it was flu season after all), out the front doors, and to her car. She fumbled with her keys and dropped them twice before unlocking the doors. Sliding behind the wheel, she ordered Wilson to get in. He barely had time to shut the door before she shot out of the parking lot and toward his apartment.

* * *

"What should we do?" Cameron asked.

"Carry on as usual," Foreman said. Chase and Cameron nodded and left to tend to clinic duty.

Foreman pulled out his phone but put it back in his pocket before he did something stupid and called House. If House wanted to be left alone, Foreman wanted to respect that wish, even if it was worrying.

* * *

"You know, you didn't really answer me," Wilson said, looking out the window and purposefully avoiding eye contact. "Do you like House?"

Cuddy pulled violently into a parking lot and slammed the car into park. Wilson immediately regretted asking. Cuddy folded her hands in her lap and stared at them.

"I… James, you can't tell him!" She sounded frantic.

"I can't promise that," Wilson said honestly. One way or another, House would get the truth. He always did. Cuddy turned to face him, eyes pleading desperately. "I'll try," Wilson said at last. And he would try.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I… I like him. How can I not? He's stubborn, rude, arrogant, irresponsible, disrespectful, and an ass, but he's a brilliant ass!" Some small part of her mind reprimanded her for spilling all the thoughts she kept secret, but she couldn't stop talking.

Wilson wasn't listening anymore. Just a few days earlier, House had admitted his feelings for Cuddy. And now, House was MIA, and Cuddy was an emotional wreck.

As Cuddy waxed eloquent, Wilson hung his head and wondered, _Why me?_

* * *

A/N. So there's the second chapter. This is probably going to be updated slowly. I seem to be able to write it best at school, so… Then I have to bring it home and type it all up. I do apologize for the delays in updating, and I hope you'll stick with me.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry it took so long. Finals and all that crap. But school's out for the summer. Woohoo! Read and Review, please. Truly Yours, Sherlocked Gallifreyan.

SO… I am making changes to this chapter. I am breaking it into two shorter parts, because there are still some logistics that I am working out for the latter half. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but suicide is not a familiar topic for me, nor is what the police and EMTs do at a suicide scene. With any luck, I'll have the last chapter up before… before… before the world ends. Just kidding. Hopefully I'll have it up before next week. Thank you for your patience.

A/N II: A huge thank-you to guest reviewer Scruffy for pointing out several (stupid) logistical errors on my part, as well as the fact that I called the hotel receptionists 'secretaries'. I don't know what I was thinking writing the original Chapter 3. Thank you again, Scruffy. Truly Yours, Sherlocked Gallifreyan.

* * *

Cuddy pulled to a stop in front of House's apartment complex. She darted into the building. Wilson, who was struggling to undo his seatbelt, shouted for her to wait. _Of course_, he grumbled mentally, finally undoing the stubborn seatbelt. He ran after her and found her jostling the door knob, even though she knew it was locked.

"There you are!" she said, ripping the key from his hand and unlocking the door. She threw it open violently and stormed inside. "House!" she shouted. "Where are… House? Where are you?" The anger quickly faded from her voice and posture.

"What is it?" Wilson asked. She pointed mutely at the phone and the cell phone (which was dead). The phone had at least a hundred messages saved. It was clear House hadn't been there in quite some time.

"Search the place," Cuddy ordered, heading toward the bedroom. The bed was made, and the curtains were drawn. Cuddy's heart sank. This wasn't like House at all.

"Found a note," Wilson said, leaning into the room. "_Before _you rip this from my hand," he said, pulling it away from her, "it says he's at a hotel. I think I know which one."

"Then let's go!" Cuddy said, whisking past him. Wilson rolled his eyes before following her.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Cuddy demanded that the confused receptionist tell her what room House had rented. "He's… he's in Room 613!" the receptionist said, shoving a key at Cuddy.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said, giving the receptionist a fifty dollar bill.

He caught up with Cuddy, who was shoving at the door. "That idiot's blocked the door," she growled, stumbling as the door swung open.

House spun guiltily. "Cuddy!" he said. "What are you doing here?" He backed toward the open door and balcony. Cuddy's heart lurched. She knew exactly what he planned to do.

"Don't you dare!" she snarled as House stood on the chair by the railing.

"House, don't," Wilson said, staring at his friend. "Come down. We can figure this out."

"There's nothing to figure out," House said, calmly standing on the railing. Without another word, he fell forward.

Cuddy screamed and ran to the railing, reaching toward the still body on the ground sixty feet down. Wilson ran forward and wrapped his arms around her waist to discourage her from following House. "No," Cuddy whispered.

"I'm so, so sorry," Wilson said as she turned around and hugged him tightly. He held her as she sobbed, gently rubbing her back. "I'm so sorry." Tears ran down his own face.

Cuddy tore free from his embrace and sprinted down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.

A crowd had gathered around House's body. She shoved her way through the crowd and knelt by the body. Dimly she heard someone yell, "Call an ambulance!" "I already called the police," a quieter voice said.

Wilson pushed through the crowd and stood behind Cuddy, staring at the body, not wanting to believe House was dead…


End file.
